


Eclipsing Apollo

by chewysugar



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Bruises, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Tony Stark, Love, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: In Greek Mythology the sun god’s love for a young prince ultimately proved the mortal’s doom. Tony isn’t about to let anything take his personal prince away from him, least of all the sun.





	Eclipsing Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of safety, I'll say that Peter is about seventeen...not that it makes any difference.

I hate the sun sometimes. Odd, given that I’ve been known to sunbathe without a stitch on. What can I say? It’s hard to keep my whole body tan, and in the event that the lucky few to see me in my altogether get that close, I want them to have the whole package deal, pun completely intended.

But lately I can’t stand the sight or feel of that motherfucker. It could be the heat; after Thanos, I haven’t been able to stand intense heat of any kind. Really, anything that reminds me of fire, which has made for some pretty awkward Christmas get together at my cabin on Lake Tahoe. I’m like a Vietnam vet, only without the myriad of physical health problems and public condemnation.

To be honest, though, my reason for wanting to flip off the evil Day Star is much, much more primal—the sun is always looking at what belongs to me. For however many hours that fat, ever-burning son of a bitch sits in the sky, it gets to look down at my property—at my prince. It gets to touch him with its warm, warm rays. I haven’t given it permission, and I sincerely would like to blow the fucker to smithereens.

Well, okay, not seriously. I helped save the universe; it would be forty-thousand types of screwed up to want to see it destroyed again. Although I’m pretty sure I’m batting an average of about forty-thousand in terms of how messed up I am.

But how can I help myself when he’s just so damn perfect? Too perfect for the sun to look at so shamelessly.

He’s in the penthouse pool, because of course my penthouse has a pool. A rooftop pool, which makes no sense as it’s a better vantage spot for Mister Golden Sun to shine down on me and mine. To any normal person, he’s not even being provocative right now—just lying on an inflatable pool mattress with a pair of trunks on that are almost puritanical. For Christ sake, they reach his knees. I’m the one rocking the aging porn star look in my micro Speedo and aviator shades.

I know what’s under those shorts, though. You might say I’m intimately acquainted with it—with him. It shouldn’t be like this; to wit, it’s about the most fucked up I’ve ever been. And it’s also the most in love I’ve ever been. Sometimes it chokes me; sometimes it makes me think insane things, like how I want to make the sun look away from him.

Peter thought it was him at first; that he came back wrong, and that it was his fault that I wanted to be near him at all times. It drove him half-crazy. Those nights, when he was awake and terrified and repulsed by himself were really what clinched it for the two of us. He tried so hard to push back; and so did I, to be fair. But after the battles and sacrifices, I just didn’t care anymore. What was proper—what was right—didn’t matter because none of this mattered when there were things out there so much bigger than what I’d always known.

So we live like this now: high above the rest of the world in the daylight, and gracing the mortals with our presence in the evening. And at night, when that fucking sun is finally looking elsewhere, we stay in. Like _in_ in. In my bed, in each other's arms...and bodies.

It’s never the same with us. Sometimes it’s gentle and loving—more often than not, as a matter of fact. Other times, we both catch fire and combust together. And then there’s the odd night when all we do is talk, our skin touching. He likes to watch TV—usually old episodes of Carl Sagan's _Cosmos_ or _The X-Files_. All that crap stopped fascinating me even before I knew that there were aliens. But I like to watch Peter's eyes light up with interest and joy at all the amazing facts about this little pocket of reality we inhabit. Peter can still find delight in the universe after all he went through. That spark inside him gives me something to believe in when it feels like everything else has gone dark and monochrome.

Here in the full heat and sunlight, I watch him float on the chlorinated water. Even from my deckchair I can see the faint marks on his shoulders and neck. I was a little too enthusiastic last night. He didn’t say anything when we woke up, even though it always worries me when I hold him too tightly or push him too far.

Maybe that’s why I hate the sun. It knows what we're doing. Nobody else in our little found family—those who survived—are any the wiser. I don’t know if they’d be accepting. Actually I know for a fact that they wouldn’t, with the possible exception of Thor. Asgardians have some weird predilections from what I’ve been told.

Besides, what kind of trillionaire boy genius would I be if I liked sharing? Peter is mine. End of story.

His senses are so acute that he feels me staring. Slowly, his body moving like a sleepy cat, he slides from his mattress and into the water. His eyes are on me, his lips curled into a grin that is way too seductive for someone of his age. Then again, he’s seen and done things that people twice that wouldn’t want to go through, so I hardly think it matters.

Electricity shoots from my brain to my balls, but it’s no match for the warmth in my heart. Yeah, he’s sin on legs but he’s so much more to me. I’d say precious, but it would make me sound too much like Gollum, and I’m already considering myself half a lunatic.

He crawls out of the pool. Water runs downs his bare chest. He’s too fucking toned thanks to the kiss from the spider. My eyes follow the path from his throat to his chest down to the burgeoning hairs below his belly button. Way too fucking tempting, but I’m not about to think on the morality of us.

He’s all I want in this crazy, cruel mortal coil.

“You said you were going to take a dip.” Anyone else would have affected a pout. But he’s too old in spirit, and he knows that I don’t go in for the daddy play. It’s too weird, as if anything about this isn’t.

“I got distracted.”

Peter kneels next to my chair and rests his head on my lap—in dangerous proximity of Not-So-Little Tony.

“I fell asleep.” He sounds ashamed, and I can’t have that. My fingers thread through his hair, as if I can coax all the negative away. “It’s so damn hot up here.”

“We can always go to Alaska I you want.”

“Pass. I’d vomit with the thirty days of sunlight.” He sighs, and that little gust of breath against my groin makes me shiver. “It’s not so bad up here.” Puppy dog brown eyes glance up at me. “I like being here, with you. It’s just...I’m not used to it still. Y’know...having nothing going on.”

“You don’t want there to be anything do you?”

He frowns. I can tell when he’s thinking by the little crease between his eyebrows. Of course he wants to still be Spider-Man. He’s full of hellfire and spit at his age; but he’s not jonesing to be involved with anything remotely like what happened with Thanos—with what broke us apart.

“No.” He nestles snugly against my thigh again. “No I don’t. You’re enough of a handful as it is.”

“Why thank you.” I grin like the devil, making a euphemism out of innocence.

Peter chuckles. “You’re welcome.” He stays there like that, and soon he starts to breathe even and deep.

Fuck me running, he looks good in the sun, although I hate to admit it. Like a peach, all rosy and ripe and glowing. And from personal experience I know that he’s just as sweet and juicy.

Then again, he looks good under a lot of conditions...except for disappearing through my fingers.

The memory bites like a viper. Tight bands squeeze at my chest. I remember the dread of seeing him fade to nothing--and the turmoil of all those endless weeks spent without him.

But Peter is here, not vanishing, and nothing can take him away from me. Not even the sun.

He’s asleep again, and he doesn’t wake when I pick him up and carry him in my arms towards the sliding glass door of the penthouse.

I stare up at the sun, and then stick my tongue out at it.

_Game, set and match, Tony Stark._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
